A Slave to Die For
by Sylvester
Summary: Draco, the Crown Prince, buys a pair of very stubborn slaves. Will they help him save his kingdom, or be the death of him? ON HIATUS
1. Prologue: the purchase

A Slave to Die For

  
  


pairings: HP/DM, HG/RW, GW/NL, SB/RL

  
  


disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making money from this story.

  
  


Author's note: This is a Prince!Draco Slave!Harry story, and I know the country names and such couldn't be more unoriginal, but hey, whatever, right? Please not that this is SLASH (male/male), and if you think it's icky, then find a more canon story to read. Enjoy!

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Draco ambled through the busy market district of Diagon, where peasants of the four kingdoms of Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, haggled over the prices of items like shrivelfigs, owls, and potatoes. He loved being among the commoners, especially in disguise, where there was no exasperating bowing and scrapping and callings for his blessing etc etc. 

"Fresh newt eyes! Two dozen for five knuts! Fresh newt eyes!" A portly woman crooned, displaying her wares on a wooden cart. Draco stopped at the next booth and bought a slice of watermelon, sucking on the dripping juices and spitting out the seeds as he proceeded down the market.

A few children ran through the streets, laughing and playing with wooden swords. Draco had to veer off to the side to avoid being prodded. He frowned at their threadbare tunics, which were smeared in filth, and riddled with holes. The Slytherin Realm was going to seed, and his father, King Lucius, knew it well. 'It used to be so beautiful, now it's rotten and covered with shit.' Draco mused, subconsciously turning down a dank alley, and proceeding to Knockturn, the dark, dangerous part of the marketplace. He had a special purchase to make, and this was the only one place to get it.....

"Now, here's a nice strong youth, he has no whip marks, see? So he's quite mellow, follows orders exceptionally well.....let's start at 50 galleons! Yes, you sir! In the bright red! And do I see 75? Very good, ma'am!" A large cow of a man was auctioning off slaves, currently a boy who had dirty blond hair and a hopeless emptiness in his gaze as he stared out blankly to the audience of eager bidders. He turned Draco off of him instantly. He liked slaves with backbone, fire, passion.....

A little ways down the line of chained slaves, he came across a promising pair. A young man, who had to be around Draco's own age of seventeen, was glaring angrily at the crowd. He wore a tattered tunic and a fraying pair of knee-pants, and his hair was a long, filthy dark brown. He had various cuts and bruises on his face and arms, and when he turned to whisper to his neighboring slave, Draco could plainly see dried strips of blood on his back through the holes of his shirt. The slave's eyes scanned the crowd with a furious sweep, and rested on Draco, who gasped at their brilliant green hue. He was the one. 

This slave girl next to him was just as defiant and proud as her neighbor. She was a bit shorter, but looked to be seventeen as well. Her frizzy honey-brown hair was long and knotted, and it reached her tunic belt, which was only a cord of twine. Her uniform was as dilapidated and flea-bitten as the boy's, and Draco was not surprised to see just as many whip marks on her arms and back. Her hazel eyes followed her friend's, and stared fiercely at Draco. 

Well, he knew that he was buying the boy, but his Father had told him not to waste his money being charitable. Draco decided not to get the girl now, but keep tabs on her, and see if a position opened at the palace that she could fill. 

The auctioneer grabbed Draco's boy by the neck and veered him front and center. "Now, this whelp is a waste of life. He is very stubborn and he has a consistent tendency of mouthing back. I wouldn't waste my money on him, personally, but for those of you who like to ah, break them in, he'd be your man. Lets start at fifteen galleons....yes! You there in the hood! Do I hear twenty? No? Well, going once, twice, SOLD! To the fine man in the hood." 

Draco was amused to see the slave's look of anguished astonishment at being bought. The blonde youth was about to walk backstage to pick up his parcel, when the boy snarled, " I go nowhere without her!" And he clutched at the girl Draco had contemplated buying later. Draco smirked, and raised his head to the slave auctioneer. His hood fell away.

"Prince Draco!" The large man gasped, sinking to his pudgy knees, "It is an honor, m'lord. What may I say to dissuade you from buying this loser?" The man yanked on the chain connecting to the slave's manacled hands, feet, and neck. The boy fell to his knees with a jerk, and the girl fell with him, still clutched tightly in his arms. "You're making a scene, boy. Let the mudblood go!" The fat man whispered menacingly, but the green-eyed man just held on tighter. "Do you think I care what the crowd sees?" He retorted, earning a backslap in the face. The man turned to his prince, giving him a look that said, "See what I mean?"

"What is your name, slave seller?" Draco drawled, pulling out a bag of gold. "And what is your price for the girl?" The two slaves looked awe-struck, but still stayed defiantly entwined with each other. 

"I am Vernon, m'lord. Of the Twist Guild." Ah, yes. Vernon the Twisted. He was a notorious slave hunter and purveyor. He was a head member of the band of brutal and barbaric muggles who had connived and weaseled their way out of slavery, the Twist, as they called it themselves.

"I have heard of you. And the girl...?" Draco prompted, reaching into his silk purse. 

"Ah, she is another dud, m'-"

"I can see the whip lashes just as plainly as you, Vernon. How much for her?" He snapped, growing impatient. 

"Yessir. Ten galleons." Vernon mumbled, yanking on the slaves' chains viciously. Draco gave the man twenty five gold coins, and signaled to his two hidden bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, from their hiding places among the crowd. He handed them a slave chain each, and led their odd procession back up to the palace of his father, King Lucius. He almost forgot to yank his hood back up before returning to the jostling bustle of Diagon. 

"Your names, slaves?" He inquired, turning silver eyes upon his purchases. Crabbe and Goyle yanked sharply on their chains to force an answer out of them. 

"Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter."

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author's note: okay, I dunno when I'm going to update this, since I don't know how long the next chapter will be, but I'll try to get it out soon. Please review!


	2. Home Again, Home Again

A Slave to Die For: chapter 1

  
  


pairings: DM/HP, HG/RW, GW/NL, SB/RL

  
  


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"Harry Potter." Draco repeated, frowning. That name rang a distant and quiet bell, like something that he had dreamed about many years ago. Draco placed his hand on the wrought iron gate leading to his ancestral home, Slytherin Palace. The bars of the gate, which were actually masterfully detailed metal snakes, hissed and slid up into the shoot above their heads. 

"Ingenious. Still Life charm?" Hermione whispered under her breath, and Draco turned his head to stare at her from the corner of his eye. 

"Yes, it was created by Salazar himself. My favorite part about it is that the snakes will attack if anyone without permission tries to get in, or out. The basilisk venom that lies in their fangs is a strong deterrent for anyone foolish enough to try it, though. Ah, welcome to your new home." The two slaves shot each other a worried glance. No way getting past this exit without their new owner's say-so. 

The five made their way through the welcoming garden full of exotic flora and magnificent marble statues of various creatures and people. One was a handsome centaur, with a beautiful young woman asleep on his back. He seemed to be gazing at the heavens, deep in concentration. It was the most prominent figure in the whole of the garden, and it was Draco's favorite. 

They proceeded into the castle proper, where the Entrance Hall lay. Harry and Hermione were transfixed at the sheer magnitude of the single room, and the elegance of everything in it. The ceiling was gilded in gold, and the solid marble floor was polished to reflect. On the walls, larger-than-life size portraits of various Malfoys hung. As they passed, Draco lazily named them off. 

"Meet my great-great-great uncle Rodolphus, he was a mass murderer. Oh, and my fourth cousin Emmeline, she slaughtered both her children before turning on her husband and claiming the crown. Great Grandmother Benjamina, she was a nut if I ever met one. And my personal favorite, Aunt Bellatrix." He stopped short at her frame, and glared furiously up at a tall, thin, and pale woman with midnight black hair and hooded eyes. Her thin, blood-red lips were quirked in an insane smirk, and her dress, which was a flowing ballroom gown of the deepest crimson, had a large boa constrictor draped across it, and wrapped around her neck. Harry got the deep impression that this was not a woman to be trifled with, if her portrait radiated evil and danger.

Harry hoped that the prince would take his chains off him and Hermione soon, his feet were aching, and his wrists weren't much better. Draco turned and led his cronies and his slaves up the grand staircase, to where the largest portrait hung. This one was not dark and foreboding like the others, but warm and bright.

It was a woman with long, blond curls and full lips. Her eyes were of the brightest blue, and lit up her face. 

Harry vaguely recognized the nose and eyebrows, when Draco murmured, "And this is my mother." Ah. So that's where he knew that nose. It was small and slightly pointed, like the Prince's. The royal reached up and lightly touched the painted hem of her light blue ballroom dress. Harry saw Hermione's eyes soften at the tender gesture. He glared scoldingly at her, and she simply pointed at the gold plaque under the frame. 

Queen Narcissa Black Malfoy

Loving Mother and Wife

The Year of Merlin 1567-1592 

  
  


Harry did the math in his head, and concluded that Draco's mother died when she was twenty five years old, twelve years ago. Hermione pointed to Draco's back, and held up five fingers. So Queen Narcissa had died when her son was five. Well, that didn't matter. He still bought them to be mindless slaves, and he was still going to give him Hell. 

Draco sighed and, lifting his head up regally, proceeded up the staircase to the left, which led to a long, dimly lit hallway of doors. Hermione shuffled her feet, and could not contain a whimper of pain when Goyle tugged forcefully on her chain. Harry made a move to attack the large guard, but Crabbe pulled on his own tether, making the rough manacles on his wrists and feet rub into his sensitive skin. He didn't quite bite back a hiss of stinging pain. Fortunately, his collar was made of leather, and didn't cut into his neck. Draco glared at his cronies.

"What do you think you're doing? I would like them to be able to function! Unlock those filthy cuffs around their feet and hands, but do not take off their collars. I still do not know how much restraint you two have." He finished, looking at Hermione and Harry. The two thugs muttered their apologies to their prince, and broke off the iron shackles. Hermione bent down and rubbed her sore ankles, and Harry did the same to his wrists. "Give the chains to me, you morons, and go open the doors." They stumbled off to unlock a series of doors before Draco got to them. Harry counted twelve apertures that they passed through as Draco took his slaves' collars and led them like dogs up to his private wing, which was much more airy and warm than the rest of what Harry had seen of the palace. Hermione, feeling a bit bold, tried to stop moving, but Draco was far stronger than either of them imagined. She was forced to move lest she fall on her knees, and Harry decided not to try the mysterious prince pulling them through the hall. 

The teen royal opened a large oak door, which was decorated in beautiful carvings of angels and devils, and admitted the two slaves into the most comfortable room in all of the Slytherin realm. He closed the door behind them and locked it with a wave of his hand. 

"Now, let me see your bonds." Hermione hesitated forward, and Draco smiled at her. "Honestly, do you think I'm going to bite your head off? I just want to take off the silly band." And the girl walked up to her master, who looked relieved that she didn't run away or yell at him or cry or do something stupid. He touched the leather collar and it fell to the floor. Draco took Hermione's hands in his and stared into her eyes. "I am not going to hurt you in any way. Ask any of the other servants who work for me. I have never hit any of him. Now, my father is the one you want to watch. Steer clear of him if you can help it. Harry, let me see your collar now." Harry strode forward, and exposed his neck to his owner. With a touch, it too was lying on the floor. "Now, I know of a job for you, Harry, but I do not know where to put Hermione. What do you two suggest?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Do you have a library?" 

Draco studied her. She was a very interesting and many-faceted creature. She was obviously quite brainy, and would be a very good addition to the expansive Slytherin Library. He would look into it. She seemed very eager to get her hands on such a job, like it was her dream, just within fingertip's reach.

"I'll see what I can do. Now, I'm curious. How long have you two been in servitude?" 

Harry and Hermione looked stunned that they were part of a civil conversation with their master, who had promised not to do what wealthy Slytherin slave owners were infamous for. 

This was not what they were expecting. Hermione was softening to her new master it seemed, but Harry would hold out for as long as he could. He hated being a slave, even if the master was kind. He would escape and be his own man, no matter what. And Hermione would come with him, even if she was Head Librarian. He had promised her that they would be free one day. And he never broke his word. 

"Harry has gone from house to house since he was five. I met him ten years ago, when my family was captured and sold as slaves." She spat the last word. 

"I see. And what country are you from?" 

"Gryffindor." Harry snapped, glaring hard at Draco, who quirked an eyebrow at the moody servant. 

"Ah. Well, I must be going. Hermione, I will have to place you in Molly's care before I can talk to our Head Librarian here, but you have my promise that I will speak with her. Harry, your job will start as soon as you get a bloody bath. You both reek."

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author's note: thanks to everyone who reviewed this, I hope you enjoy it. I dedicate this to Kristen, who is a HP/DM freak, as well as my beta reader. Cha, chica! Please review! 


	3. A Clean Up, and Harry Gets the 411

A Slave to Die For: chapter 2

  
  


pairings: HP/DM, HG/RW, GW/NL, LM/BL

  
  


author's note: *gets down on knees and grovels* I am profusely sorry for taking so bloody long, school's screwed up my extracurricular schedule....I barely have any time to write:( But here we are, the next chapter!

  
  


Thanks to all who reviewed so far!

  
  


~~***~~

Draco smiled in amusement as Harry was tossed into a freezing cold bathtub. He shrieked in shock and annoyance, trying to fight off Fred and George. The twins dunked him under roughly, both thoroughly tired of the slave's unruly and unorthodox behavior. 

"Honestly, Draco! Why would you buy an unruly fella like this one? Well, you can't say that he doesn't have- Hey!!" Harry had spit water into his eyes. 

"Harry!" Draco admonished, finally pushing himself from the wall to assist his two red-headed guards. He was impressed that the youth could hold his own against two fully trained warriors, though. 

Harry was slipping and sliding his way out of the large copper tub when Draco strode over and shoved him back in.

"Argh! Gerroff me!" The raven-haired servant shouted, but was finally conquered when the two men restrained him, while his master lathered up a loofa. "Nooo! I HATE baths!"

"We can tell." Draco grinned maniacally, and started scrubbing the cake of grime and dust off his filthy purchase. 

After a half and hour of labor, they could all see Harry's true complexion....porcelain with a touch of tan. His skin would be beautiful, if only Draco could get him to moisturize. He had ashy patches on all his knuckle, his knees, and his elbows. 

Harry had calmed down substantially after his initial temper tantrum. While scrubbing his head with a hair cleansing potion created by the resident potions master, the Slytherin Prince took the chance to examine his slave's total damage. Seventy whip scars cris-crossed his back and sides, twenty in the front, and two short gashes shown like tattoos on the backs of his legs. He suspected that they were inflicted with daggers. 

And just between the boy's shoulders, he made out two faded lines, twisted like licorice, coming together to form a V. Vernon the Twisted, his signature branded into white flesh. Well, that would just not do. 

"Fred, go to Severus and request a bottle of scar removal salve. On second thought," he ran his fingers along two of the parallel gashes, "make that a scar removal AND a tattoo removal." Fred bowed and with long strides, exited the Prince Chambers. 

~~***~~

"What does he want a scar and tattoo removal salve for?" Severus Snape asked, glaring at the Prince's two mischievous bodyguards. He had never trusted the two Gryffindor POWs after they, at the age of twelve, had somehow turned his hair fuschia at dinner. But he had always grudgingly respected their creativity and balls. That's what made them such wily guards.

"Draco bought one bull of a slave today. To fill in the ah...recently vacated position."

Severus raised an eyebrow. A new acquisition to the Slytherin palace? That was news indeed. The Malfoys rarely bought new slaves....they preferred to keep a tight number of well-trusted, hard-working servants, usually if they were descendants from a pure blooded line. He must meet the Prince's new......worker....at the soonest time. 

"I presume that he was in a more-or-less 'used' condition then?" He said as he fished out two bottles, one containing an orange goo, and the other with reddish paste. He thrust one each into the warriors' hands. 

"Quite. We had to restrain his for Draco to scrub him down." George admitted, pocketing the vial.

Snape spluttered. "You-you TOUCHED him?! Are you crazy?! If the King ever found out...." He trailed off, his heart racing. He shouldn't have shouted....one of Lucius's spies might have heard him.....

"I know, but Draco insisted. And we are sworn never to go against Draco, even if he orders us to "stick our head up our asses and hop like a rabbit," as he eloquently put it. But we know better than to go blabbing it to just anyone. YOU'RE at least trustworthy." Fred whispered, glancing around the hallway.

"Well, must be off. Prince Draco thanks you for the potion. G'day." And with that, the two men were gone, down secret passages that only they knew.

~~***~~ 

"Ah, thank you. Stop squirming, Harry. This doesn't hurt that bad. Severus puts liquid anesthetic into the more painful of his concoctions." Draco smirked, and poured a dollop of the orange glop onto his palm, and applied it gently to the raven-haired slave's ugly torso. 

"Ow!" He complained, as the liquid stung mildly as it touched the places that needed healing. 

"Quit griping, you baby." Fred snapped, and George groaned in agreement. Harry shot them withering glances, before whimpering again when the red paste was rubbed roughly into his brand. 

"Wash off now." Draco ordered, wiping his hands and moving to the bath chamber's large wardrobe. "And put this on." A black silk robe was tossed onto the floor by the tub, and Harry closed his eyes and sunk sullenly under the murky water. 

"Brat." Fred muttered, moving into the Prince's living quarters, away from the willful servant.

~~***~~

Draco sipped his wine and listened offhandedly to his guards' light chatter. The bath door slammed open, and an angel clothed in the devil's color emerged, eyes bright with spirit and intense emotion. His long hair dripped onto his robe, and Draco gasped in delight at the transformation. He was CLEAN, oh so clean! His skin was now unmarred and flawless, radiant from his long-needed wash. Aside from the rough patches that needed lotion, Harry was fit to be seen in public now. Fred whistled and George clapped. Harry picked up one of the sofa's pillows and chucked it at them. They caught it together, laughing.

Draco stood and strode over to him. "Wonderful. Now, that hair." 

Harry fingered his black locks protectively. "What about it?"

"It's still wanting. I'm going to have it cut to a more tolerable length. Ginny!" 

At once, the twins' youngest sister pushed open the door and walked in brusquely, accompanied by a pair of silver scissors. 

"I'll see to it at once, Draco."

He smiled at her and pushed Harry down onto the soft couch. "I would like it just below his ears, long enough to be pulled up in a half-pony tail when needed. Hop to it." 

~~***~~

An hour later, Harry looked like a totally different person. Everyone in the room was stunned. But now the bad part of this improvement came upon the young prince.

"Now that you are decent, Lucius will want to see you. And Hermione. But first I guess I should fill you in on the ah, 'details' of your position. Ginny, Fred, George, thank you." The three Weasleys bowed and immediately left the room. Harry gazed up at his master, feeling anxious. Now he would finally know why he was here. 

"Have you ever heard of the Angelus Victum?" For the first time, Draco couldn't meet a servant's eyes. Harry didn't notice, as he was deep in thought.

"Rings a vague bell...."

"It means 'Bound Angel.' Well, ah, the Angelus Victum is like the head wife of a harem, except there are no other concubines. And the orientation of the Prince determines the gender of the Angelus Victum."

Harry felt an angry blush spread over his cheeks. He was a personal whore?! Not in this lifetime! He would run away with Hermione before that ever happened. Labor her could handle for a while, but being a concubine to this slimy royal was unthinkable! Draco continued while Harry started to seethe, unshed tears of anger welling up in his bright green eyes. 

"No one is allowed to touch you without my permission, or my father's. He and I are the only ones allowed to touch you in any way. But he cannot ah...'use' your services. Only the Crown Prince owns that right. The Angelus Victum serves only the Crown Prince of Slytherin, and when I am king, you shall then receive some high title, servants and privileges all your own. It the Angelus is a woman, she becomes Queen. But the Angelus Victum is always bound to his or her master, and their quarters are connected to the Prince's. You will have that room, and your own wing connected to mine. 

"I'm not that special! Why me?! I'm a disobedient little street rat from the gutters of Gryffindor, why would the High and Mighty Prince of bloody Slytherin want me as his slut? I was expecting to be your sodding WHIPPING BOY!" He finally shouted, letting out all his fright and anger. 

Draco did not rise to fury, but merely narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "It's a matter of fate. The Angelus Victum is almost always descended from one or another royal line, usually Merlin's blood flows in his veins. It is most interesting that Fate has chosen you to by my life-mate, but I am not that unwilling to accept you, you know. You really are quite stunning, once cleaned up a bit. But we do need to work on your air and manners. You have want of patience, too. Well, that's why we have tutors. Any other questions?"

Harry locked gazes with him, and ground out, "Will I have to start right away?" 

Draco smiled. "Of course not. You have no experience. You will be taught."

"BY WHO?!"

The smile widened. "By me. Remember, only I am allowed to use you in that manner. And hear me now, or forever regret it," his voice grew soft and menacing, "if I find that you have ever let someone else touch you like that......the consequences will be severe. We will start your ah...training....in a week. Go to bed now, it's the door beside the bureau."

Harry stormed off, slamming the door, and without taking in his new room, vaulted himself onto the bed, and screaming into the pillow like an injured tiger.

~~***~~

author's note: I'm just now learning Latin, so if Angelus Victum is in any way wrong, please feel free to correct me, you Latin scholars out there! Please review!!!!!!! 


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